


Cat Burglar

by deltachye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Comedy, F/M, Minor Violence, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [detective!reader x hacker!kenma kozume]In the dark streets of Tokyo, there’s two players. Cat and Mouse. Detective and Criminal. Cat Burglar’s the sly, fresh ‘Robin Hood’ hacker that you’ve spent countless hours trying to catch. He was always one step ahead and you were two steps behind. Out of your mind, you’d probably do anything to convict him. But when he’s accused of murder, you learn that maybe Cats can live with Mice after all...





	1. Chapter 1: Kitten and Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> \- This is written as a western type of police drama, more specifically, it is based on NYPD operatives. So, while it's set in the city of Tokyo, it will be inaccurate to Japanese law.  
> \- This is fully a detective!AU, meaning that the events of Haikyuu!! canon don't happen at all.  
> Please enjoy the first chapter!
> 
> Spinoff: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9094771

* * *

 

You and your partner stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring with muted awe as tonnes upon tonnes of green American hundreds rained from the ceiling.

“This chick’s amazing!” Detective Haiba laughed, like a child on Christmas day. “Just look at all this!”

He reached a lanky arm up, snatching a bill out of the air. He snapped the crisp green in his fingers, a giddy grin on his face. You batted it out of his hands, but only half-heartedly. After all, a couple crumpled notes were stuffed into your own pockets. (But it was just rent money! Nothing that’d be missed.) Besides, you were pretty sure the culprit owed it to you after all the unpaid hours you were putting in for this case.

“You don’t know if they’re a woman,” you corrected lazily, turning your gaze up as high as you could. The cartel lord had been storing his illegal cash in the air vents, and now they showered down upon the police squad and techs, having been triggered by a remote command. The suspects tried desperately to paw at their lost wealth in their handcuffs, even going so far as to bite the air in the hopes of catching the bills. And the only person who would do this was…

“Cat Burglar,” you snarled on a low exhale, rubbing your eyes. “Of course.”

“This isn’t really considered cat burglary,” Haiba said, crossing his arms over his long trench coat. The towering half-Russian moved aside for a cowering techie, whose lab equipment rattled audibly in his shaky hands. Haiba continued, combing fine silvery hair away from his face. “It’s more… cyber hacking. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Welcome to the 21st century,” you grumbled, also sidestepping a bustling pair of plainshirts who were carting out criminals. “You can commit burglary without even leaving the comfort of your own bedroom.”

“My money!” one wailed as he passed, tears streaming down his swollen, pudgy cheeks. “My _money_!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, eyes trailing after him. His cries grew distant and the pitch deepened like a siren’s Doppler effect. You looked back into the living room, money still trailing from air vents as if it might never end. It almost looked like Christmas Day, if snow were green and could be exchanged for goods and services.

“Do we really have to arrest this girl—or, uh, guy? I mean, they’re kinda doing us a favour, here. I never would’ve checked in the vents!”

“That’s because you’re a rookie and you suck,” you retorted pointedly. “No matter how noble you _think_ Cat Burglar is, they’re still committing a crime. Committed.” You groaned. It’d been about 3 months since the Cat Burglar had come online, and even now, you were still chasing your own tail. The Cat Burglar was untraceable, and just when you thought you’d found a point of predictability, they’d go and do a hit some hundred kilometers from where you had expected. The good thing was that Cat Burglar only seemed to do hits in Tokyo, which saved you from having to deal with Interpol. The tendons in your jaw twitched at the thought of those smug bastards.

“The only crime Cat Burglar seems to have done is make you all pissed off. Did you even sleep at all, last night?”

Unconsciously furthering his point, you scowled, the frown making a few of the lab techs step away from you nervously. “No!” you snapped, “I didn’t, because I was busy staying up all night to try and hunt down this stupid Cat Burglar!”

Haiba laughed at you heartily and ruffled your hair, either having the flat-out bravery needed to ridicule you when you were upset, or he was too stupid to care. “Hey, maybe we should just give it up. Let Cat Burglar have some free reign. They’ve done nothing but target the overly wealthy.”

You closed your eyes, which burned from exhaustion and sleep-deprivation. The only thing keeping you standing was the coffee that had virtually replaced the blood in your veins.

“I’d like to,” you admitted in a hushed, conspiratorial whisper, forcing your partner to bend down in order to hear you. “But it’s the law. If we don’t uphold it, then what are we?”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Haiba sighed, waving you off. “I’m not serious. Of course we’ll catch her!”

“Or him. Or them. Maybe Cat Burglar’s an it: a rogue computer program. Wouldn’t that make the news? ‘Tokyo precinct hauls in Cat Burglar’—and there’ll be a picture of us lugging around a computer tower with handcuffs on top.”

“What’s with you?” he snorted. “Why are you so sure that it’s not a girl?”

“There’s not enough pettiness,” you said with a wry smile. “If I was pulling the strings, you could bet all of my ex-boyfriends would be weeping in the streets.”

He rolled his deep green eyes, putting a large hand on your shoulder. “Right, right. Come on, Kitten.”

You shrugged his hand off of you and glared. “I told you not to call me that. That was my rookie’s name.”

“I find it endearing.”

“I’m a Detective now. Your senior officer, too! Treat me with some respect, would you, _rookie_?”

“I hear they called you Kitten ‘cause you cried when they rescued a kid’s cat out of a tree.”

“Okay, I was only 20, and emotional, and—no. Forget it.” You looked away, face hot with embarrassment, before a black speck in the ceiling caught your eye. The drug cartel wouldn’t have a square centimeter of this place that didn’t have constant CC feed. Grudgingly, you raised your hand into a salute. And you could’ve sworn that it whirred back at you, in some sort of wink.

Far, far away, Kenma Kozume smiled lazily.


	2. Chapter 2: Hella Racing Stripes

Kozume Kenma’s day went like any other. He rolled out of bed at the bright and early time of 3:45 PM and ate an old pizza pocket that he found in the back of his freezer. How old was it? He didn’t know, and at this point, he didn’t think that he _wanted_ to know. He brushed back unwashed hair, ignoring the feeling of griminess that came along with his week-old clothes. Showering was a nuisance and doing laundry was even worse. Doing the laundry meant actually going out into the world to get to the laundry room. Although the trek would’ve taken less than a minute, the prospect of leaving his apartment was like taking a trip to the wild plains of Madagascar, so Kenma remained home. 

Then came the day’s business. He sat at his desk, reclining in the plush armchair. His computer was on at all times and was already purring gently when he logged in. Familiar fingers pressed familiar keys, the clacking only just audible through the ear Kenma left exposed. The other was deafened under heavy-duty noise-cancelling headphones. The computer whirred to full activity like an excited cat, his many monitors glowing brightly in the dark room. His curtains had been drawn for maximum visibility; glare was an annoyance that he didn’t bother to tolerate. 

First off, he checked the games news website. No updates on the new Pokemon game. A new DLC. Some new skins. The usual. His amber eyes moved to the next monitor, gliding along in a steady, predetermined path. This had been Kenma’s life for years, really. After graduating high school he had taken some (online, of course, as actually going to school would’ve made him gag) courses in University to fool around. Nothing had really piqued his interest. His professors were practically self-glorified monkeys and the course material was child’s play. ‘Complex code’ his ass. After all, Kozume Kenma was a genius, and it didn’t take long for him to lose interest. 

Having finished his daily browsing, he could finally get to work. He cracked his knuckles, rolling out each crick in his neck. Kenma didn’t do well with employment or ‘teamwork’. He was his own man. So, self-employed, he did what he did best for a living.

Hacking.

He’d really only started dabbling in cybercrime after realizing that being a living person in society meant having money. Money he didn’t exactly _have_ , at the time. He’d moved away from his parents at the age of 17, telling a few white lies about going to college and getting a job. He’d done both of those, really, just… not in the way that he told them he had. They were happy enough when he sent them pictures that he’d photoshopped himself into, and they were even happier when their debts mysteriously disappeared due to ‘system error’.

It wasn’t legal, of course. It wasn’t even considered a ‘grey area’ thing. It was a full on felony. But that’s exactly what made it _fun_. Sure, he could’ve gone to develop code with Google or work with the government. But that wouldn’t be the same. It was like playing Dark Souls on ‘easy’—what was the point? Go big or go home, right? Well, in his case, Kenma was always home… but to digress.

The centre four monitors were dedicated solely to hacking. The others were news feeds, live feeds of baby animals, or underground chatrooms. A user by the name of _Pilkington was currently offering advice as to how best to go about a Ponzi scheme. Kenma bookmarked the entry, deciding that he’d read it later. Today, he already had a mark. 

Kentarou Kyoutani was a petty criminal of some gang that Kenma cared little about. He’d only made it to Kenma’s monitors by committing a series of violent robberies, splashing the pages of the national news. It was distasteful, in Kenma’s opinion—if you had to use force in a robbery, then you completely lacked grace. But, it was obvious through Kyoutani’s escalation of hits that he planned to go for the criminal renowned jackpot: a precious gem collection locked up in a rich yakuza leader’s house. Talk about the gem’s worth was ubiquitous amongst thieves. But Kenma had little faith in Kyoutani. If anything, the most Kyoutani would achieve was weakening Ushijima’s security. 

Which was exactly what Kenma was planning to piggyback on. It’d be a free score, basically. He wasn’t after the diamonds; Kenma didn’t need the gems. Usually, when he pulled a heist, he only siphoned the digital funds. Physical money was something he cared little for and released, if he could, to the public. A lot of his ‘fair share’ went to charities through anonymous donations. And, he had already decided to only steal from those who wouldn’t need the money. Criminals, crooked politicians… although he didn’t think that the Ushijima Group members were entirely bad people, he didn’t think the billionaires would mind if he ‘borrowed’ a couple million. 

He ran his biometric recognition search program on the bottom rightmost screen. It took a while, having to sort through the millions of security cameras of Tokyo city. He took this time to place an order on a new keyboard. Did he need the new keyboard? No. Was it cool looking? Yes. So he bought it. To be delivered to his door, of course, since he would’ve rather starved than take a trip to the post office.

After a while he heard a ping in his headphone and returned his attention. Kyoutani was spotted lurking a couple blocks down from the Ushijima house. Kenma typed in a few commands, turning the camera for a better view. From what he could see, Kyoutani was alone.

“Idiot,” he scoffed to himself. Then, Kenma nodded begrudgingly. He could understand working alone. If you were alone, you wouldn’t have anybody to stab you in the back. Even so, Kenma highly doubted that Kyoutani’s solitude would be helping him succeed. Through the grainy feed, he could see Kyoutani leaning to peer around corners, looking around shiftily. Kenma tapped a key and zoomed in on the young man’s face. His hair was bleached blond and—did he have _racing stripes_ carved into his head? He did. Two of them.

“Idiot,” Kenma mumbled again, feeling self-conscious for having dyed his hair the same colours. He scratched his head, ignoring the oil that gathered under his fingernails. At least he wasn’t trying to pretend to be a racecar.

Finally, Kyoutani went on the move. The lean male flung his grey hood up over his head, hunching over despite the 33 degree day. As if you couldn’t look more suspicious. Kenma’s amber eyes rolled up to the ceiling with judgement. He tracked Kyoutani using traffic cameras until Kyoutani was in range of the Ushijima household. Then, with a great big sigh of relief, Kenma switched to the high quality cameras the Ushijima Group owned. The change from grainy pixels to a proper image was a bit jarring, but pleased Kenma some. Kenma propped his head up on a knee, curling up in his chair, and waited.

Having been a pretty quiet kid, Kenma learnt how to read lips. He didn’t like talking so much, if at all. Despite the fact that he could hear just fine, he spent a lot of time blocking others out with his headphones. When he wasn’t on his phone, he liked to watch other people talk. He didn’t care what they talked about, but observing people from a distance made it a lot easier for him to feel calm in crowds. That was probably where he’d developed the skill. The single guard at the West gate stopped Kyoutani, who was starting to loiter around the entrance.

 _“What are you doing here?”_ the guard was saying.

Kyoutani’s back faced the camera, so Kenma couldn’t tell what was said in response. The security camera posted at the gate entrance wasn’t functioning properly, seeming to be stuck in its rotation. Bird poop must have glued the swivelling hinge stuck to the left. 

The guard’s face wrinkled with suspicion and he patted his suit jacket’s pocket deliberately, revealing the outline of a pistol. Kenma grimaced with disgust. If there was anything he hated more than socializing, it was guns. And sunlight. And a whole lot of other things, but that wasn’t the point.

_“Look, bud, you gotta go. Leave now or I’ll call the police to take you away themselves.”_

Kenma wasn’t surprised to hear (well, read) the guard mention the police so readily. The Ushijima Group were a little less ‘business group’ and a little shadier than one might think was legal. But the police were heavily funded by Ushijima money, so they turned a blind eye to most operations, as long as they were discreet and non-violent. The Ushijima Group had the entire TMPD force under its thumb, meaning the guard’s words were a legitimate threat. 

Kyoutani made a few aggressive hand gestures before holding his hands up defensively, the guard’s gun already drawn. Kenma watched the guard talk into his wrist. Sitting up straighter, Kenma placed his hands back over the keyboard, which lit up lazily. While there was traffic over the radio about a possible intruder, there’d be fewer eyes on the Ushijima bank funds. 3 million would be enough. But, before he could even start up his program to automatically transfer the money to his Caymans account, he noticed something. There was a lot of movement out of the corner of his eye. Kenma’s attention naturally went to it, and he gasped sharply.

Kenma stared silently with numb awe, as five bodies bled out onto the dirt road. Kyoutani lay right in the middle. Something in his clenched fist—a switchblade, maybe—sparkled in the sun. The other dead circled Kyoutani’s body like a sick ritual stance. Guards were running up to them, only to be shot down by what looked like rapid machine gunfire. Kenma watched with fascinated horror as crimson bloomed out on their white button ups. With no audio feed, the silent film seemed surreal. As if it were just a movie. But it wasn’t; these were real people with families, and they were gone forever. He was the one witnessing their last moments.

Kenma realized that he should probably be trying to help, and scrambled to punch in a few strings, opening up all the feeds around the house he could. His hands shook as he typed. The fight had already ended in that short amount of time and the corpses lay in the streets, looking like they were staged. He ignored them, his blood roaring in his ears as he searched the feeds for any hints or clues as to who the attackers were. They had been smart enough to avoid all the cameras, not even needing to disable them to stay hidden. Anything, anything at all… his keen eyes caught on a piece of paper resting atop of Kyoutani’s bloody chest. He zoomed in and resized the image, increasing the resolution until he could read the printed text. The image was still grainy, but the message was still discernable. 

**COURTESY OF CAT BURGLAR.**

Oh, shit.


	3. Chapter 3: COURTE OF CAT BURG

“Oh, shit.”

You agreed with your partner avidly as Haiba stumbled back, holding his sleeve to his nose with a look of disgust screwing up his pale face. You’d heard over the frantic radios that it was _bad_ , but didn’t think that it’d be _this_ bad.

“A whoppin’ count of 12 dead,” Sergeant Kuroo suddenly said, appearing next to you. Despite years of joint academy training, and even _more_ years of shared drinking and friendship, you hadn’t gotten accustomed to his movements. To make matters worse, Sergeant-Detective Tetsurou Kuroo had the bad habit of showing up when you least expected it. You swallowed down a startled scream and closed your eyes in annoyance, putting a hand over your jittery heart.

“Kuroo!” you growled. “For god’s sake, can’t you at least say ‘hi’ before springing that on me?” Your tone was nothing but exhausted, and you slowly re-opened your eyes. A body was being carted past you, a heavy black tarp thrown over it, and you saw a hand dangle from the stretcher limply. Blood seeped into the cracks of the man’s frozen watch. The scene was sickening and you turned away, focusing entirely on the taller detective to steady yourself. He’d been through all of the same drills with you; held back your hair as you threw up; let you crash on his couch when you were tired of being alone. In return you’d listened to his sappy whining about girlfriends and footed the (hefty) bar bills. It was a platonic, symbiotic relationship and as a result the two of you were close.

“Hi, there. Happy? We got 12 dead, no culprit, and Ushijima- _sama_ ’s mad.”

You peered past Kuroo at said figure, whom your friend had mocked so eloquently. Wakatoshi Ushijima stood silently, with an eerie expression of calm plastered onto his broad face. His mere aura was enough to make you feel apprehensive. What was so imposing about a guy just standing there? You didn’t know, but you knew that you didn’t want to be around him. There seemed to be a twinge of sorrow laced in the man’s stoic features, possibly for his dead crew, but he was currently talking with the Captain. You tried to look closer at their lips, to try and get a hint of their conversation—

“He doesn’t look that way. He looks like this entire thing was just a minor inconvenience,” Haiba remarked peevishly, snapping your attention back. You turned to look up at Kuroo, who had been your partner up until you were paired with the half-Russian rookie.

“There’s got to be like, a billion people who want to get at Ushijima.” You started chewing on your thumbnail—bad habit—and tried to think a little more clearly. Ushijima was yakuza. That much was certain. He had never been accused, but it was obvious, from his attitude and the influxes of money the police would get when they were drawing close on an underground gambling match. The Ushijima Group claimed that their wealth came from convenient stock shares and business moves, but it was more likely that they were running illegal poker games. Surely, he’d have a lot of enemies. That only made your job practically impossible. You sighed, lowering your arm. “None of them seem guilty, Kuroo?”

“Well, we’ll have plenty of alibi checking to do tonight. But there is one suspect in particular.”

“Who?” you asked eagerly, leaning in. 

“Cat Burglar.”

Immediately, you recoiled, shaking your head firmly.

“No. Cat Burglar wouldn’t have done this.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows shot up, his sleepy eyes widening. The toothpick he’d been chewing on in order to help him cut smoking went slack in his mouth. He peered down at you closely, his slight and angular features knitting together suspiciously. 

“Why’re you so quick to think that? Aren’t you the one who’s always like: ‘oh, just because he steals from the rich doesn’t mean he’s a good guy’?”

You scowled, irritated with his shitty falsetto impersonation of you. “Isn’t it obvious? Cat Burglar’s never done anything this violent before. All he does is sit in his room and cyber-hack away on his little computer. It’s a far leap from _that_ to coldblooded murder. Going this far off of an MO is unreasonable and you know it, Kuroo.”

His dark eyes narrowed and his usually warm expression went cold. You suddenly realized why the people he interrogated confessed so quickly. Kuroo leant in close, speaking softly, which only made his words that much louder. 

“People can be pushed to do unreasonable things. Besides, there was evidence.”

The word made your stomach feel tight with anxiety. You swallowed thickly.

“What evidence?” 

Kuroo turned and looked around, before waving and whistling piercingly at a certain techie. The small young woman hurriedly scurried over, a baggied item in her hand. Kuroo plucked it out of her palm, showing it to you. It was a note, about the size of a playing card. Deep red droplets of blood had obscured part of the lettering, but it was obvious what had been printed.

**COURTE OF CAT BURG**

“He’s being framed,” you declared dismissively, unsure of why you had just said something like that so quickly. Why were you defending a criminal? Sure, murder was a lot more serious than theft, but you just had a solid feeling in your gut that told you that whoever the Cat Burglar was… they weren’t a murderer. But Buddy Ol’ Kuroo was an expert in body language and read your expression far too easily. He looked at you sceptically, scoffing slightly.

“Look at you, all buddy-buddy with your perp. What’s gotten into you? If there’s a suspect, we crack down on them.” He shook the baggie in your face for emphasis, ‘COURTE OF CAT BURG’ dancing across your field of view until you snatched it from him yourself. 

“Haiba!” you snapped, your mood now sour. “Take this.” You shoved it into your partner’s hands, ignoring his fumbling as you turned back to Kuroo. You glared at him, jabbing a finger into his chest to emphasize yourself. “I’ll prove it. I’ll prove that Cat Burglar didn’t do it.”

“I wouldn’t advise it.”

The sudden voice came from the captain of your beloved precinct, Morisuke Yaku. He wasn’t much older than you but had been boosted up the ranks through hard work and ingenuity. The shorter man looked up at you with a melancholy expression, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Funny to see you out and about, Captain,” Haiba remarked. As a captain, Yaku was often stuck indoors filing paperwork, so it was rare to see him at outside—much less at a crime scene. Your last memories of him on the field were when you had first come to the precinct as a rookie. Even then, he was on the fast track to captain, and had only worked one case with you. Still, you’d learnt a lot from him, and he was the only authority you properly respected. Yaku sighed, turning his head back to look at Ushijima, who was talking quietly on a cell phone.

“This is a special case. I had the brass beating my ass about it, so I had to come here myself. Stop looking so impressed. I don’t spend all of my hours at the office.”

“Yes, you do,” Kuroo and Haiba said in unison, exchanging snarky grins. Yaku ground his teeth and was about to retort hotly before you cut in.

“What were you saying?” you pressed, ignoring their conversation entirely. “About not advising it, or whatever.”

“I was getting there.” He delivered a swift blow to both Kuroo and Haiba’s solar plexuses, leaving them bent over wheezing. He continued as if nothing happened at all, his tone serious. “Listen, this is a high profile case. Ushijima Wakatoshi isn’t just anybody.”

“I know that. _Everybody_ knows that, Captain.” 

“So you know exactly why we’ve got to put Cat B—the _suspect_ under fire.” Yaku pulled a hand out of his pocket and ran it through his sand-toned hair, sighing loudly. A bit of your anger died down into sympathy. Yaku had been worked ragged, especially since his precinct was in such a crime-riddled location. People of other precincts often laughed at yours during the TMPD meets because of the difference in workloads. Still, you couldn’t just forgive his words.

“Captain Yaku. You’re telling me to ignore the facts on one piece of evidence? You’ve always told me to go on my gut instinct. That’s what I’ve learnt from you. And you’re telling me to forget about it because Ushijima has _money_? Because he needs somebody convicted to save face?”

He stared back at you before glancing away, muttering to the ground sheepishly. You couldn’t even believe it—your proud and mighty Captain, cowering under the threat of public relations.

“Orders are orders. That note is solid evidence. I’m sorry, Detective, but this is the way it’s got to be.” He then turned his gaze to Haiba and Kuroo, who had been listening intently after catching their breaths. “All of you get back to HQ and do what you do best. Figure out a way to find the suspect and arrest him for 12 counts of murder.” Yaku gave you one last pointed glare before walking back to Wakatoshi Ushijima, who was adjusting his expensive looking tie. The man still looked as if his pet dog had died of old age, rather than 11 of his trusted employers. Your blood froze in your veins. You would never understand how the money-hungry higher-ups that ran the police department would choose social standings over justice.

“Kitten,” Kuroo murmured, using your pet rookie name. You scowled but said nothing, biting back an angry retort, allowing him to continue uninterrupted. He put a hand on your shoulder. “Sometimes this is the way things have got to be. Cat Burglar’s our only suspect. If we don’t get a conviction for Ushijima, fast—”

“You, too? Kuroo—no, _Tetsurou_. Please.” You stared at him pleadingly, but he merely squeezed your shoulder.

“Let’s figure out how to catch him. Look, I trust you, and if your gut says he didn’t do it… well, then maybe he didn’t. But right now, we don’t have any other leads, and we’ve got to haul somebody in before Ushijima destroys the entire TMPD. So you’ve got to let it go.”

You brushed away his hand angrily.

“I’ll show you. I’ll show you all. Cat Burglar didn’t do it.”

In a high-rise studio many kilometres away, Kenma Kozume watched his computer monitor with wide eyes as a certain female detective stormed away from her male partners. A light blush fanned across his pale cheeks and he covered his face, despite the fact that nobody was there to see him.


	4. Chapter 4: Punk'd

“[Surname].”

“Can’t believe he’s siding with the friggin’ yakuza boss. I thought we were friends, and here he is, bending over for the top brass because Ushijima lines their pockets… I trusted him, you know? I trust Kuroo with my life, and what does he do? Shove it up his ass.”

“[Name]?”

“And then he goes on to tell me that _I’m_ the one who’s wrong? What the hell did you become a police officer for, then? I’m gettin’ paid jack shit, unlike some old asshats upstairs, and you want _me_ to support Ushijima? There’s no motive for Cat Burglar to kill 12 people! Nothing at all! One of the victims was a gang member, so why aren’t we suspecting rival gangs? I—”

Haiba promptly slammed on the brakes, shooting you forwards in your seat. The 3-point seatbelt did its job and saved your life, but managed to choke you of your breath as compensation. You gasped for air, staring at him with wild eyes.

“What the hell, Haiba?!” you choked out, massaging your bruising shoulder. 

“Listen to me for a minute, would you?” He clucked his tongue and started forwards again. The two of you were still cruising down residential streets, so nobody was bothered by his blatant violation of driving rules. He drove forwards smoothly, his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel as the other supported his head casually. “I support you.”

“You do?” you asked, baffled to hear this from him. You had only begun to work with Haiba for a couple of months and some, so the sudden display of camaraderie from him and not Kuroo— your friend of five years—was jarring. 

“You’re right about the MO, and the entire gang influence. I don’t think anybody would suddenly switch things up from being a pacifist to a murderer of 12 people like that. It’s easier to believe that it’s somebody framing him. Especially a member of the mob. You, the Captain, as well as Sergeant Kuroo don’t think that it’s Cat Burglar. Even if they’re not allowed to say it. Besides, you’re all smart, so I’ll guess that it’s not him, too.”

“But they don’t _care_ ,” you sighed, annoyance ringing through each syllable. You crossed your arms and looked out the window, watching green leaved trees whiz past. “All they care about is saving face for the higher-ups.”

“It’s okay. I think they _want_ you to go against the top brass and try to look for the real culprit.” Haiba spoke chirpily, his cheeriness easing your frustration somewhat. It was as if his enthusiasm were cancelling out some of your negativity. “After all, if the real culprit exists, we can find him!”

 _He’s so naïve_ , you realized with a thunderbolt of guilt. He was young. Lev Haiba was a rookie, with hardly three months of work experience under his belt. You doubted he’d ever had to fire his gun outside of the shooting range. And here you were, dragging him along on a wild goose chase. If you really did go against Captain Yaku’s words and refuse to contribute to the case towards Cat Burglar, than Haiba could very well be kissing his career goodbye. You told him this seriously, but he merely laughed.

“What’s the point of being a police officer if I’m not here to bring justice to the people? I’m okay with being a traffic cop again if I can do the right thing now. I don’t want to have any regrets.”

“Lev,” you mused with a smile, using his first name. “You’re an all right kid.”

“Really? You think so?! Thanks, [Name]!” He glanced at you excitedly, his green eyes shimmering with the joy of praise. You immediately scowled. You were his superior officer, here to mould him into the cop the streets needed. Tough love, tough love!

“Eyes on the road, rookie!” you barked, looking away. “And buy me a coffee!”

“Yes, ma’am…” His dejection seemed to slow the car, too, and the two of you trundled along.

\---

Coffee in hand, you sat with Haiba inside his tiny Honda Civic (which was honestly the worst car the six footer could have chosen for himself) and spoke quietly. Although totally irrational, you felt as though you would be caught if you talked too loudly. It reminded you of those punk’d shows, where people would lie in wait, and listen for you to slip up so that they could fire you on the spot. 

“So, do you have a plan? I was thinking that we go through Ushijima emails to see if there were any death threats. The feeds from the cameras will be rolling in soon, too, so we’ve got to check those out before Kuroo can lock them down. We’ll also have to check into whatever gang the outsider was a part of.”

“I was thinking that we make contact with Cat Burglar himself.”

“Eughhaaahhh?!” 

That was you choking on your hot coffee.

“Gah!” 

That was Haiba reacting to you choking on said scalding coffee. 

“Are you okay?” he asked frantically, passing you a tissue. Hastily, he added, “please don’t get coffee on my carpet!”

Hacking the bitter drink out of your lungs, you wiped your chin, glaring at him through tears. “What do you mean, _make contact_?! What do you think we’ve been trying to do for the past few months? Sit on our asses?”

“Well, during those months we were just trying to catch him in the act. Now that we’re kinda going off radar, I was thinking that we should just try messaging him.”

“Oh, ‘just try messaging him’?” you repeated in disbelief. You slapped a hand to your forehead. “All these months, all that work, and all I had to do was send him a text. God, you’re a genius, Haiba! What would I do without you?”

“We’re on his side now, even if we’re cops,” he explained patiently, your mockery rolling off of him like water and oil. He leant forwards excitedly. “He’ll be desperate, too, if we’re right about him. I mean, how would you feel if you were accused of 12 counts of murder, even when you didn’t do it? And I’m sure a hacker like him is monitoring all sorts of key words and sites. So all we have to do is send up a message on some forum that’s loaded with key words, and with his skills, he’ll know a way to get back to us discreetly!”

Now that you were really thinking about it, it started to make sense. Of course, a month ago you had been desperate enough to think about shooting a message off into the World Wide Web to quite literally ask for the Cat Burglar’s identity. Maybe even get a hint of contact. There were hackers and computer technicians on the police force, too. But Cat Burglar was just too good, and you quickly gave up on trying to pursue him on his home turf. Of course he’d be monitoring key words. And if you were just adamant enough about his innocence…

“God, you’re a genius, Haiba! What would I do without you?”

“I try,” he said smugly, with a grin. You tapped on his steering wheel hurriedly.

“Come on, let’s go to my place and write something up. And get me a new coffee on the way!”

“Yes, ma’am…”

\---

In his apartment, Kenma had gotten up to pace the room. He hardly ever moved anymore, since the convenience of the Internet had allowed him to do nothing but sit all day, but the anxiety had started to really kick in. He walked ruts into the flooring of his studio apartment, gnawing on his fingernails. He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this. A note left at the crime scene with his name plastered on it?! He was a known criminal, too. And, after spying in on that Captain’s speech about having nobody else to blame but him… well, Kenma was frankly screwed to the moon and back, and he was _panicking_. His computer blipped softly with a notification. Sure that it wasn’t as important as his impending jail time, Kenma ignored it. Then, he remembered the female detective at the scene. The one who had argued about his innocence. Slowly, his hands stopped to shake, and he focused on remembering her features. Was it creepy of him to do this? Probably, but remembering the detective’s face calmed him down a bit, so he took a few deep breaths and sat back down at his desk. He clicked on the notification and read, his brow furrowing with each word.

**Thief Cat Burglar Jewels Heist Money Laundering Scheme Cash Yen USD Dollars Transferal Seijoh Gang Stealing Murder Ushijima**

The list went on and on. The original post was a comment to a very sketchy, NSFW video, and he ignored the less than savoury content to try and focus on the strange comment. Scrolling down past the jumble of nonsense, his heart jumped a little.

**My name’s Detective [Surname]. I believe in your innocence and want to help you, Cat Burglar. Talk to me.**

Now he had the name to go with the face, and his heart calmed down. He sat back in his chair, sighing, feeling energy deflate out of him with the movement. He rotated in the spinning office chair slowly, chewing on his nails again until a dull pain ached at the nubs. Could he trust this woman? _Should_ he? Her face, so determined to prove his innocence against the odds, flashed in his mind again. 

He didn’t have much else to lose.

Then he scowled, quickly clicking out of the website with a hot blush slashed across his cheeks. Did she really think it was necessary to leave the comment on a _hentai_ site?!

\---

“Haiba, let’s upload our message on this website.” You pulled it up, snickering to yourself.

“Um… w-why? And how do you know about that?”

“It’ll probably shock him, and I want to get back at him for making me work so much overtime. Sucks to suck.”


	5. Chapter 5: Sherlock and Captain Obvious

“Detective!”

You hadn’t even set one foot into the precinct when Captain Yaku was yelling at you, his worn loafers tapping on the ground rhythmically. You looked around at the others for any hints as to what he might be so angry with _this_ time. Kai ignored you diligently, typing his report, as always. Inuoka and Yamamoto, the two precinct clowns, were silent and looked away from you guiltily when you caught their eyes. Their restraint was already a dead ringer that something was really wrong. Kuroo sat in his chair, giving you a pitiful look. When you raised an eyebrow at him, he pointed to yours and Haiba’s joined desks. Your partner wasn’t present. It clicked in place quickly.

Damn, you’d already been found out.

“Captain,” you asked innocently in a sweet tone, “you been on any hentai sites lately?”

“Just get in my damn office before I kick you there myself!”

\---

“[Name]!” Haiba exclaimed, sitting up quickly in his chair when you entered Yaku’s office. You glared at him pointedly.

“That’s still [Surname] to you, rookie.”

“I didn’t say anything, you know? It wasn’t—”

“I believe you,” you reassured, your tempered glare boring solely into Yaku as he sat down across from the both of you. “I think our _Captain_ here’s been snooping. Did you plant a bug in my laptop?”

“It’s a laptop issued by the department,” he replied smoothly. He’d always been the smooth talker. That was probably why he made captain and you were still a lowly dirt-eating detective. “Besides,” he continued, “I didn’t even need to plant a bug. Do you think Cat Burglar’s the only one watching key words?”

“Ah,” you and Haiba said simultaneously, nodding slowly. It made sense. Maybe if you’d sat down to think about it a little longer, you would’ve realized that _duh_ , the police force was constantly monitoring key terms on the Japanese Internet. You accepted your mistake graciously with a thoughtful frown. Yaku scowled, a thick vein throbbing in his temple.

“Do you take us to be idiots?!” he exploded, “I told you _specifically_ to let it go and chase him down!”

“For murder!” you shouted back, not missing a beat. “I refuse to arrest the guy just because some _rich boy_ wants to see somebody go down for it. He’s a thief, not a killer!”

“Either way he’s still a criminal, and you went against orders! Give me your badges and guns. You and Haiba both.”

“What?” you yelped, leaning forwards incredulously. “You’re pulling me off the case—no, you’re _suspending_ me?!”

“He’s suspending _me_ , too,” Haiba murmured, sounding hurt. You ignored him entirely.

“Detective. [Name]. Would you just… God, would it hurt you to look at it from my angle?” Yaku sat back and sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. You ground your teeth but used the last ounce of respect you had to sit back down in your chair, waiting for him to continue. Yaku continued, cracking each knuckle of his hand, something he did when he was stressed. Each syllable corresponded with a _pop_. 

“If we don’t haul in Cat Burglar, our precinct’s screwed. It’s already been tough, what with every _other_ thing going on, and we don’t have enough staff to cover this. Do you understand? If we don’t make Ushijima happy…”

“You’ll be fired!” Haiba practically yelled his answer to the rhetorical question, snapping his fingers. You and Yaku turned to stare at him. Haiba blinked, lowering his triumphant hand. “Sorry, was that insensitive? People tell me I’ve got an issue with being insensitive. I usually can’t tell when I’m—”

“Yeah,” Yaku muttered hastily in order to cut off Haiba’s speech. His tone then darkened considerably. “I’ll be fired, and this precinct will probably be run by some old man who does nothing but sit and wait for his heart attack to come by.”

“Isn’t that already you?” Haiba joked. You would’ve laughed too, if the situation weren’t so dire.

“You’re kidding me. They’d demote you?” you asked, horrified with the mere thought of having to part with him. 

“They probably wouldn’t strip me of any stripes. It’s too conspicuous. But they’d probably transfer me. You know what that’d mean for this precinct.”

You gnawed your lip at his ominous statement. The only reason the precinct still stood was the absolute loyalty everybody gave to Yaku. Yaku was the best at everything: negotiations, keeping people happy, running everything smoothly… he was a good guy overall. Everybody loved him like a father. If he left, you didn’t know if this precinct would even _exist_ in a year. 

“Fine,” you spat. You unclipped your badge from your belt, much to Haiba’s shock. Next was your glock, which you squeezed in your hand once before slamming it onto Yaku’s wooden desk. It made a dramatic _thunk_ , the deep metal gleaming in the sunlight that beamed in from Yaku’s tiny window. 

“[Name]?!” he blurted out, bewildered as you then tossed the badge onto Yaku’s desk. It clattered and skidded to a stop near his keyboard. “What are you doing? Weren’t _you_ the one who was all gung-ho about proving Cat Burglar’s innocence?”

“[Surname],” you corrected flatly, your gusto lost. You sighed through your nose and gave him a genuinely sorrowful look. “Sorry, Haiba… Lev. But I can’t risk it.”

“I can’t believe you!” Haiba snapped, standing up from his seat so quickly that it knocked over. You flinched as the metal chair tumbled to the ground loudly. Haiba continued to yell, swinging his freakishly long arms around in wild gesticulations. “You’re always talking about how the authorities are corrupted, and now, you’re gonna follow what they say anyways? You disgust me!”

You accepted his words without resistance. He was right. You were a hypocrite and just as dirty as the rest of the higher ups, who cared about money more than the lives of Tokyo citizens. You lowered your gaze guilty, unable to face the rookie that had a better heart than you did. 

“Haiba. Your badge and gun.” Yaku spoke softly, his voice strained with sympathy. 

“I won’t.”

“Lev,” you muttered, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth with the frustration of it all. “ _Do it._ ”

“[Name]…”

When you re-opened them, the taller-and-younger man looked as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he clenched his jaw and slowly unholstered his gun, placing it on Yaku’s desk gently. He then pulled his badge off from around his neck. He stared at it for a while, revolving lazily on its chain, as if he were remembering what it looked like. Yaku held out his hand for it. Before Haiba could start to hand it over—

 _Ping_!

All eyes in the room moved to Yaku’s computer screen, which had been angled in a way so that you all could read it from where you sat. A new e-mail had popped up, expanding the screen without being clicked on. The three of you read the bolded text easily.

**I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Detective Haiba.**

“Wait… that’s me!” Haiba cried out. Despite the shock of this sudden, mysterious letter, you scowled and punched your partner in the arm.

“No shit, Sherlock!” you hissed. “Don’t say things that are so obvious!” You turned your attention back to the screen as Haiba whined in pain. 

“What the hell?” Yaku murmured under his breath. “This is my private e-mail…”

“Cat Burglar!” you gasped. Haiba gave you a disgruntled look that said, ‘isn’t that obvious?’ You ignored him and leant forwards, your nose an inch from the screen. “What’s he saying?”

Yaku placed a hand on your forehead and shoved you back into your seat roughly. “We’ll see what he’s saying when he sends it!” 

The next ping silenced the three of you and three grown adults scrambled around the screen to read.

**As you may have guessed, I’m the thief you’ve all dubbed as Cat Burglar. I was framed for the 12 murders at the Ushijima Group’s home… I admit that I was about to embezzle funds from the Ushijima Group, but I had no hand in the murders. As of such I need help to clear my name, and ask for Detective Haiba and Detective [Surname]’s assistance.**

“See! He didn’t do it!” You pointed at the screen triumphantly, causing Yaku to scowl at you.

“It’s an _e-mail_. Some random kid could’ve sent it to us! This’ll never hold up in a court of law and you know it.”

“But it’s circumstantial!” Haiba argued, “and it should be enough to convince you to at least let me and [Name]—”

“Surname,” you reminded.

“—me and [Surname] look for the real culprit!” Haiba finally tossed his badge onto the table, continuing before you could stop him. “Fine. Go ahead and take our badges and guns. That just makes it easier for us to work under the radar. But don’t you dare try to stop us, Captain. Even if _you_ can’t, some of us will work to find justice.”

Captain Yaku stared down at the pair of badges and guns on his desk. No other messages came from Cat Burglar, but it was assumed that he was watching, too. Four breaths were being held as Yaku chewed on his lip. He let out a big sigh, slamming his head back onto his headrest. 

“Fine.”

“What, really?” Haiba asked with obvious bewilderment, having expected a different answer despite his entire speech. “You’ll really let us look for the real culprit?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m already screwing myself here. But… you’re both right. We became cops for justice, not to please rich boys.” He gave you both a pointed look and sighed, turning his brown eyes back to the computer screen. “I’m still going to have to suspend you. But you’ll have to beat Sergeant Kuroo and the others to it. Can you do that?”

You looked at Haiba. “We have tough competition. You really up for it?”

He smiled back at you, the grin sly and fiendish despite his youthful face. “That’s what partners do; they stick together. Besides, the real culprit exists, so all we have to do is find him first. Easy peasy.”

Yaku sighed at you both and shook his head as you slapped Haiba’s large hand triumphantly. He spoke as you blew on the stinging skin, shaking the pins and needles from the forceful high-five out of your fingers. “You two will never be promoted, you know. You’re both like Kuroo—he could’ve made it to Lieutenant if he wasn’t so hell-bent on breaking the rules for his ‘gut instinct’. He made it to Sergeant Detective because I booted his ass up there myself. Hell, I’ll be surprised if you’ll even have a salary by the end of this.”

“I’m fine with just being a detective,” you declared.

“Same!” Haiba chirped. You gave him a rare, wry smile. This kid would grow up to be a fine man. 

“Let’s get back to my place, Haiba. We’ll keep talking to Cat Burglar there and try to set up a rendezvous. Yaku, will you keep the techies off our tail?”

“I’ll try my best,” your superior groaned, sounding exhausted but sure all the same. You left the office with a new spring in your step, your fists clenched with determination. Haiba motioned to follow before leaning back to whisper conspiratorially with Yaku.

“Hey, Captain? I know I just said that whole ‘defy authority’ thing, but if my salary gets cut anymore, I won’t even have instant noodles to eat. So, if you could like, not…”

“Get out of my office.”

“Yes sir.”


	6. Chapter 6: A Dollar Store Lock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for delaying this for so long!! i got back in the writing groove so hopefully the flow of chapters will come along faster ^^

“I feel like your chauffeur,” Haiba grumbled, pulling into your empty parking spot. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you only held a license and had no car to show for the card. (Really, you had only gotten your license in the first place for easy ID to show the sleazy liquor store guys who kept thinking you were still in high school.) Your only option was to get around by bus and train, which was no good for an officer of the public peace! That meant that you often forced your rookie partner to take you everywhere. 

“Thank you,” you replied calmly.

“Whoa, you’re thanking me!?” he turned in his seat to stare at you, his thin eyebrows raised with shock. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Haiba,” you muttered testily, unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’m fine. And I’m not just thanking you for being my taxi driver. I’m thanking you for sticking with me. If our careers crash down on us, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I already said that this is what I’ve chosen. But I accept your thanks anyways, and will take you up on that drink.” Smugly he clamoured out of his too-small car, locking the doors once you’d emerged. The two of you made it up to your cupboard apartment, where you booted up your laptop. To your surprise, a message in your e-mail inbox was already waiting for you. A bit of disappointment hit you. You were _so_ prepared to write a message to Cat Burglar on a different hentai site.

**Thank you for trusting me.  
-CB**

“He’s a man of few words, isn’t he?” Haiba asked, leaning over your shoulder to look at the screen. You sat at your messy paper-strewn desk and typed up a response. 

**It’s not because I like you. I’ll still arrest you for theft, but I don’t think you killed anybody. I need to meet you face to face.**

The response came quickly afterwards.

**Do I have to?**

“Is he kidding me right now?” you groaned, pulling at your hair. “Suspected of 12 murders and he doesn’t want to go outside. What, is he fourteen?”

Haiba reached his arms out over the keyboard and typed a simple **yes, you have to**. You crossed your arms, huffy with his behaviour. You were practically laying your pretty neck out on the guillotine for this guy, and he wasn’t even ready to leave his house? That seemed a little unfair to you.

**…I can be at Detective [Surname]’s house tonight.**

**When tonight?** you asked.

**Sometime tonight.**

“He’s a snarky little bastard,” you seethed. Despite never having met him, or not even having a clue of what he looked like, you could imagine him giggling at your frustration. 

“At least he agreed to meet us,” Haiba offered. You sighed but ran a hand through your hair, which was greasy from long overtime hours. You stood and stretched, giving a look to Haiba.

“You should head home.” 

“What?!” he protested. “But I came out all this way!”

“I doubt Cat Burglar will be over that soon. Go home. Change, eat, shower. Then you can come back.”

The young man actually pouted at you. “What if Cat Burglar shows up before I get back in time? What if he attacks you?”

You snorted with amusement. “I can handle myself from a snotty hacker boy.”

Haiba opened his mouth to argue before remembering who you were. You had shot a fruit fly out of the air with your glock, once, and during a practice sparring match you had completely creamed the 6-footer without breaking a sweat. Lev Haiba was a champion of mixed martial arts. You had still made him cry. 

“Fine,” he sighed, getting to his feet. “But call me if he does come early, and I’ll be right over!”

“Don’t crash the car. I still need you to drive me places!” you called as he jogged out of your place, the door falling shut behind him. The lock was electronic and locked automatically; it didn’t cross your mind that a dollar store padlock would have protected your house better when faced with a hacker like Cat Burglar. Because this very rational thought did not cross your mind, you went to take a shower, humming a trashy pop song under your breath.

\---

“Ugh.” Kenma scowled to himself as he gave the detective’s door a once-over. There was a splatter of _something_ all along the length, and he could only say that he hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was. Maybe, if the detective could get him through the other side scot-free, he’d pay for a new apartment. 

He raised a hand to knock before hesitating. Did fugitives knock? He wasn’t exactly sure on that. The rules of being a fugitive were still pretty new to him. He stood with his hand raised like an idiot for a solid minute before deciding that it might be better if he just opened the lock himself. He ran his self-patented omnisensor over the electronic key-card style lock and it whirred open immediately, the omnisensor purring like a cat demanding attention for a job well done. He pushed the door open and looked around. It was empty. The laundry was whirring steadily, pumping soap into dark clothes. The kitchen light seemed to be flickering and cartons of Chinese take out were lining the counters.

“Freeze!”

He froze, very much like a deer in headlights. He turned his head to the right so slowly his neck seemed to creak and saw the female detective crouching behind the kitchen counter, a gun in hand. The sight of the black weapon seemed to lower the temperature of the air. She still had soap in her hair and a single white towel draped hastily around her body. He noticed that it seemed to be… slipping…

“Um—” he started, attempting to point at it awkwardly. 

“Shut up! Don’t move!” she shouted roughly. The gun clicked menacingly. 

“But—”

“Do you want me to shoot you? I will, goddammit!”

Kenma watched in slow motion as the towel fell around her in a neat pile, showing a very nice body. He was tempted to ask ‘is it considered moving if I close my eyes?’ sarcastically but instead decided to shut up, averting his gaze to the ceiling as his face burned.


	7. Chapter 7: Sweet 500

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, pushing a cup of stale Keurig generated coffee across the table. Cat Burglar (or as he admitted to you while you got dressed) Kenma Kozume skilfully pulled the mug towards him while looking the opposite direction.

“No, _I’m_ … sorry.” His voice was low but fairly pleasant to listen to, unlike the scratchy teen’s voice you had been imagining. He cleared his throat awkwardly and scratched his head, drawing your attention to the badly forgotten roots that showed with his chin length bleached hair. It was a pretty interesting look, and only made you more curious about him. 

“How old are you again?” you asked, resting your head on your knee. “You look about my age.”

“22...”

_He’s younger than me?!_

“Aha… yes, I see. Okay!” you spluttered out, hiding a disappointed frown behind your hand and choking coughs. Haiba would be pawning a sweet 500 and never-ending gloating rights off of you for winning that bet. “Well. Kozume-kun…”

“Kenma’s fine, if that makes it easier.” His golden eyes flitted to yours for a split second before they widened, darting back to his coffee. A red tinge lit up his pale skin and you almost laughed at him. You didn’t really care that he’d seen your naked body (although it was fairly humiliating to be crouching with a gun and nothing else) but the way he reacted made him look cute. 

Cute?

Suddenly you realized that you were getting too soft. Kenma was still a criminal who’d committed felonies and you needed to be aware of it. Your expression hardened and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

“I texted Detective Haiba. He’s on his way.”

“Oh, the Russian lightpost. Sure.” Kenma spoke in a lazy drawl that both irritated and amused you. You ignored the conflict of feelings and pressed on. 

“What's your plan, Kenma?”

“I was hoping _you_ would have one. Isn’t that why you called me?”

You scowled at him, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling with exasperation. “I’m not your friend, here. Just because you eyed my tit—”

“It was an accident!” he interjected, spitting a mouthful of terrible coffee back up. You continued, ignoring him.

“—doesn’t mean we’re pals. I’m a cop and you’re a criminal. Cat and rat.” You pointed at yourself and him for emphasis. “I don’t think you killed anybody, but you’re still going under for stealing.”

“I only stole from people who didn’t need it,” he muttered under his breath spitefully. Your hairs bristled.

“You still _stole_.”

“I gave money to charities. What more do you want from me? I bet I did a whole lot more for the world than you have, _Cat_.” The soft voice had turned acrid and the way he said ‘cat’ reminded you of your rookie’s name, only grown up and meant like ‘female dog’. As if realizing himself, he looked away again, with a grumbled “sorry”. His attempt at an apology gave you a tad of sympathy and you sighed with a defeat.

“I can’t let you off the hook entirely. But I’m sure the precinct’ll be happy to slap you on the wrist with some service hours and private work if you keep hush hush.” Feeling sort of bad for snapping at him, you changed your tone to reflect a kinder self. Part of the reason you were able to drill so many perps was your ability to change yourself. Haiba called it fake and told you that your fake smiles wouldn’t get you very far in the dating sense. You didn’t care. Maybe you were being a liar, but if it helped people, did they really care? 

_That same logic is what’s going through his head,_ you mused, watching him stir the coffee absentmindedly with long, thin fingers. _I guess we’re more alike than I thought._ He noticed your silence and glanced up, his amber eyes showing a tired irritability but razor sharp intelligence.

“How can I help my case?” he asked. You sighed.

“First… we need a suspect to suspect. A jury isn’t going to like you just ‘cause you’re cute. We need somebody to pin it on.”

_You said it out loud, dumbass._

“You think I’m cute?” he repeated, stunned as he realized what you realized. But you brushed him off, deciding that for your mental statues, your brain had to be shifted into work-mode with no room for ‘oops, shouldn’t have said that’ thoughts.

“Think. Who doesn't like you? Who’d get off by seeing you go to jail?”

“A lot of people,” he muttered guiltily. You sighed again, pinching the bridge of your nose. Suddenly, he perked up, a bright light flickering in his golden irises.

“Wait. Before the Ushijima group guys got fronted like that, there was another gang guy. Kyoutani Kentarou or something.”

You nodded slowly, remembering the victim’s profile faintly. 

“Seijoh, right? A sergeant in my precinct was covering gangs. I heard he was close to getting booted.”

“Yeah,” Kenma snorted. “He was a dumbass. That’s why I was following him to the Ushijima Group. I was banking on him distracting them enough for me to hack—I mean… _allegedly_ hack into their main accounts.”

“But?” you pressed, growing interested.

“But he was dead the second I looked back.”

“Was he killed by an Ushijima?”

“Kyoutani had his switchblade out but…” Kenma looked to be racking his brain for memories, his eyes squeezed shut. “But he fell onto his back, towards the guard. If the guard was going to attack him, he wouldn't have died at that angle.”

“Meaning that the real killer came in from the road.” You frantically pushed keys and cups off of your coffee table, searching for a note pad or something to write on. “This is good stuff, Kenma—this can really help our case. Do you remember anything else?”

“Um…”

“Wait, I need to write this down. Hold that thought.” You got up and jogged off into a bedroom. Kenma could hear things falling to the ground as you were, most likely, uprooting your entire room for a notepad. He blinked. Didn’t you own a smartphone? Maybe he’d give you one of his old ones once everything was done. _If I get out of this okay,_ he reminded himself, shoulders slumping. Being around you gave him some form of hope. It was strange. He hadn’t really _felt_ so optimistic about anything that didn’t relate to games or money in… well, forever. Maybe it was a nice change. 

He looked out the window as he waited for your return. Despite the crummy place, you at least had nice floor-to-ceiling windows, showing off the glittery Tokyo skyline. One of the nearby condoplexes was only a meter or two away, its fire escape practically scraping up with yours. His eyes followed the building tops lazily and he realized it looked quite a bit like his parent’s old condo when he was first born. A twinge of nostalgia struck his heart. He hadn’t been good to them—hell, when was the last time he’d even spoken to them? If you kept your word and got him cleared, he’d give them a call. Maybe even fly back and visit. He’d tolerate the nosy relatives if he could just see his mom and dad again.

As he thought about this, a sparkle on the rooftop caught his eye. It didn’t come from any lights from inside your house reflecting off the glass. And there shouldn’t be any light from the top of a building like that, despite the fact that it seemed quite far away. It even looked like what sniper rifles looked like in GTA…?

“Aha! I finally found it!” you shouted, storming back out from your bedroom, your dark wet hair swinging wildly around your face. Kenma looked past you at a little red dot that vibrated closely until it reached your chest—

“Get down!” he shouted, leaping up from your chair and tackling you into the ground. A cold rain of glass followed and his head hit the ground hard. His vision spun. His concentration was fading. His eyelids fell and all he was aware of was the feel of your safe body underneath his. That was good. At least… you were… safe…

And he drifted, a never-spoken apology to his parents on his lips.


	8. Chapter 8: Button-Mash A

Kenma came to soon after, only experiencing a couple seconds of blackout. A hazy waft of familiar smelling tobacco smoke filled his nose as he breathed, eyelids fluttering heavily. Sleep, the alien realm that he hardly ever visited, finally coaxed to him. It’d be so nice if he could just fall asleep… but the cold breeze in his hair was irritating, and with having fallen upon you in such an awkward manner, his arm had been pinned under their bodies. 

And then he remembered.

With a jolt he jerked up to feel a cool hard point press between his shoulder blades. His heart raced frantically. There was a reason he limited his life to exploring video games—in the game, you re-spawned by pounding A when you died. There was no A button to real life. He saw nothing but you splayed out underneath him, knocked unconscious by the fall but still breathing. 

“Wow. You did our job for us. Thank you, Kozume-san. Or should I say… Cat Burglar?”

The purring drawl made him tempted to turn around. He hadn’t ever heard that voice before. The stiff paralysis of shock froze him and he looked around without moving his head, looking for an escape. _Think. You’re a genius._

“Up we go,” a harsher voice said into his ear. A hand grabbed him under the right arm and hauled him to his feet embarrassingly easily. Kenma might’ve even dangled from the guy’s hands like a newborn kitten. He didn’t dare look behind him, but he didn’t need to. A tall brunette clad in a white and turquoise suit walked round the counter, revealing himself to Kenma in a grotesquely pretentious manner. Kenma would’ve sneered if he wouldn’t get shot for it.

“You don’t know me, but I know you.” The man flicked at a non-existent speck on his cream suit jacket and adjusted his shirt collar. His deep chestnut eyes moved to meet Kenma’s and Kenma could feel his blood trickling in every vein, growing colder with each beat. “My name is Oikawa Tooru. Ring any bells?”

“You’re the head of the Seijoh Gang,” Kenma blurted out automatically, his eidetic memory pulling up all the articles he had skimmed across in his life. Oikawa Tooru, born in a family of eight. CEO of Aoba Johsai Enterpises. 

Mob boss.

“Ah, so you _are_ as smart as they say you are. Cute. You’re pretty cute.” Kenma was tense as Oikawa spoke, feeling the silencer of the gun dig into his flesh as the seconds ticked past.

“Oikawa,” the man behind him said, his words garbled with a voice distorter. “Get a move on it. The cops’ll move in real fast if you keep up your prissy act.”

“Mean! So mean!” Oikawa whined, nearly making Kenma raise his eyebrows. Apparently, the killer mob boss was also a childish prick. Oikawa sighed and cleared his throat, the sly and crooked smirk returning to his handsome features. “That’s my muscleman. You feel it, don’t you? It’s a 1996. Classic, German made. Really quite nice though. Soft as a whisper. Nobody’d know you were dead.”

To emphasize his point, the muscleman clicked the safety off, the hinge sounding far too innocent for such a deadly weapon.

“What do you want?” Kenma finally asked. He could feel his hands shaking pathetically at his sides as his eyes darted back to you, who had started to shift groggily. _Dammit!_ he thought to himself disgustedly, _what do I do?!_

“I want _you_.” Oikawa’s tone was seductive now as he crouched, curling his arms around your head. Kenma inhaled sharply as he put a hand on your chin, long fingers splayed over your lips as the other rested atop your head. In one swift twisting motion you could be dead. Would be if he didn’t _think of something to do_ —

“Why?” Kenma pressed, trying to buy time. You had said that your partner was coming, didn’t you? Haiba something? Well, he was pretty damn late to the party!

“Isn’t it obvious? With your skill sets, that bastard Ushiwaka’ll have nothing on me.” Oikawa grinned as he pulled you up to him, the side of his head pressed against yours. You moaned, obviously trying to break through the fog of grogginess, but Oikawa merely shushed you soothingly. 

“You killed Kyoutani, didn’t you? And all of his other guards?” Kenma was grasping at straws now and the unnamed man wrenched his arm behind his back, cracking cartilage in his shoulder. Kenma ignored the pain, speaking rapidly with his eyes on your face. “You’re the one responsible for framing me!”

“Yes, yes, and yes. Bingo! I’m surprised the TMPD hasn’t figured it out yet. I mean, Kyoutani was an idiot. He never listened to me. Always did his own thing… at first, that was fine by me. But then he stopped listening to his alpha, so he had to go. What better way to stick it to Ushiwaka-chan _and_ trap you in my nets as well?” Oikawa laughed gleefully to himself before his pleasant expression suddenly fell. He tilted your head so that it started to angle dangerously and Kenma shook his head once, pleadingly.

“We’re running out of time, Kozume-chan,” Oikawa purred. 

“I’m not going to join your stupid gang,” Kenma spat, sounding cool for the first time in his life. “I’m not a petty criminal. I don’t stoop that low.”

“Oh? Okay. I’ll just kill little [Name]-chan, then. Wouldn’t you like that? The blood of her pretty face on your hands?”

“You won’t kill her,” Kenma said confidently. “It’s too obvious. Her partner and the whole TMPD will know even if you snuff us both.”

“Kenma, Kenma, Kenma…” Oikawa shook his head, the smile returning to his face. “You’re thinking too naively here. But you’re right, I won’t kill her. Are you sure you don’t want to come to our side?”

“What are you going to do?” Kenma asked, much less confident this time round. 

“I’ll just make her wish she were dead.”

“Wait,” Kenma interjected as Oikawa suddenly grabbed your body, slinging you over his shoulder. “Wait. Just take me instead—”

“Who am I kidding? I shouldn’t have even tried to ask you to come to my side. I can see it in your eyes. I used to be like you.” Oikawa’s brown eyes slid up and down Kenma’s frame disgustedly. “And I had a kid like you, once. He came to me… but nevermind. That’s a story for another time.” Your leg twitched as you started to move, but Oikawa effectively knocked you out by delivering a decisive blow to the base of your skull. 

“Oikawa,” the man behind him warned. 

“Right. Well, here’s my thinking. If _I_ can’t have it, nobody can. I never go halfway. If you’re gonna hit it, you gotta hit it until it breaks.” He patted your behind two times and turned around, carrying you out the front door of your own place. Kenma could only watch helplessly.

“Please, she’s innocent. If I’m the one you want, just take me instead—”

“Did I tell you about the boy you remind me of?” Oikawa interjected, his back facing Kenma as he froze. “His name was Kageyama Tobio. He was tough stuff. Had real smarts, too. I thought he could’ve made it big if he were just a bit older. I thought if I left him alone, he would either self-destruct or do some good. But he was too good. He was… a good kid. He worked with some cop behind my back and I didn’t even know about it ‘till it was almost too late.” Oikawa turned around, the false smile completely deprived to leave a cold, ruthless glare. “So I shot him. He was like my little brother, you know. He reminded me of me. But I killed him anyways.” The smile returned to his face, but the expression was all the more terrifying. “You’re too good to stand by my side. I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

The man holding Kenma’s arm took the gun away from his back only to snap it sharply over the top of his head. Kenma fell to the ground for the second time, wishing for nothing but the chance to button-mash A and have a do-over.


	9. Chapter 9: Smoke Rings

“Get up. You! Get up right now!”

The voice in his ear was horrifically loud and set off a series of aches in his skull. Kenma made a weak attempt to ‘get up’, but he was already being pulled up to his feet before he could even try. This was too familiar and getting way too old.

“You!” the man barked. “Where the hell is she?! Spit it out damn it! Where is she?”

Kenma struggled to open his eyes and was met with the angular face of a Eurasian stranger, his broad features twisted with fury. Kenma opened his mouth to speak and had a hand grasp the front of his shirt, drawing him closer to the man. The man towered over Kenma like some sort of freak building. 

“Where is she?!” he demanded, his voice rumbling with anger. “Goddammit, where is she?!”

“I don’t know,” Kenma managed to choke out, allowing himself to be pushed and pulled around by the extremely tall man. Kenma guessed that it had to be your partner, Haiba Lev. Haiba groaned and tossed him aside like non-useful garbage. Kenma staggered and sank to the floor, holding his throbbing scalp as Haiba paced your living room.

“It’s your fault, isn’t it? You _are_ him, right? Cat Burglar?”

“Yes,” Kenma admitted stately, deciding now was not the time for wisecracks. 

“What happened? Where is she? She didn’t… _jump_ , did she?!” Haiba rushed to the window, still broken and letting in the enormous gusts of wind from the tenth story.

“No. Oikawa took her. Seijoh was the one who did it. Everything. The framing, the murders…”

“Dammit,” Haiba muttered, sounding like he were completely ignoring Kenma. “Why her…? How could they have taken her?” Haiba seemed to remember Kenma’s existence and turned to him, green eyes still glittering with the fury of a million wronged men. “What do you remember?”

“Um…” Kenma sifted through the fuzziness, holding his head and closing his eyes. “There were two of them… one had a voice distorter. The other was just Oikawa.”

“Why wasn’t Oikawa wearing a distorter or mask, then? That’s… okay, fine. What do you remember about the other guy? The one with the distorter?”

“He was strong, for sure. Um… he was tall, like, at least 5’10? I didn’t see him. But he smelled…” Kenma tried to remember but couldn’t. There had been a definite smell about the man, but Haiba wasn’t having any of this ‘quiet thought period’. 

“And you let them take her,” Haiba spat caustically. Kenma winced. He didn’t disagree with the assignment of blame, but it wasn’t like he _told_ Oikawa to take you away. His heart hurt at the sight of you, being carried off like a sack of potatoes. For his sake, too. 

“You have to go after them,” Kenma pleaded, looking up at Haiba. “Before it’s too late—”

“Don’t even!” Haiba barked suddenly, his voice hoarse. “Don’t even _think_ about that! Detective [Surname]—[Name]—she’s the strongest person I know! She… she has to be okay…” Haiba suddenly shrunk away and Kenma realized he was biting back emotion. Kenma said nothing but looked away, a sick lump forming in his own throat.

“What’s your real name?” Haiba suddenly asked, breaking the spell of silence. Kenma looked up from the ground to find that Haiba disregarded him so much that he wouldn’t even look at him. 

“Kozume Kenma.”

“Listen, then. I called Sergeant Kuroo over when I got here so he should be bringing the squads any minute.” Haiba finally stopped pacing and stood directly in front of Kenma. He seemed to hesitate but decided against something and extended a large hand. “Don’t get me wrong.” He scowled as he helped Kenma to his feet. “I still hate you for losing [Name]. But she believed in you, so I’m going to as well.”

“I’ll do everything I can to get her back,” Kenma promised. “It’s the least I could do.”

“You’d better not be lying to me. If it turns out to be your fault—it doesn’t matter that I’m a cop. I’ll kill you.” Haiba’s hand tightened and Kenma’s knuckles popped. The words made hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up and he cringed. Kenma nodded and Haiba let go of his hand. The distant sound of running and muffled voices was coming into clarity and a man ran through the open door, gun in hand. He breathed hard and looked around, his dark wind-swept hair stuck haphazardly to his face with sweat. The newcomer’s eyes locked with Kenma’s. 

A smell of tobacco filled the air.

\---

“Thought you quit, Sarge.” Haiba took the cuffs off of Kenma’s wrists and he rubbed them together with relief, restoring circulation to his cold hands. Kuroo exhaled slowly, the wispy grey smoke blown into a steady stream before being dispelled around the room.

“That was before [Name] got kidnapped by the most wanted man in Tokyo. This is now.” His took another long draw, the embers in his cigarette glowing brightly before he blew the smoke into Kenma’s face. Kenma winced and coughed, waving the smoke away as Kuroo grimaced. “This is the punk? ‘Cat Burglar’?” The title the police had assigned to him sounded like an insult in Kuroo’s tone.

“Yessir,” Haiba said, crossing his long arms over his dirty trench coat. “The one and only.”

“So you weren’t a girl. Or are you?” Kuroo tugged on Kenma’s shoulder length hair. Kenma inhaled with pain and recoiled, holding his scalp and glaring at Kuroo bad-temperedly. Kuroo huffed, sitting back into his seat heavily with his long legs spread-eagled in front of him. Was that supposed to be some sort of intimidation tactic? Kenma bit back his disdain for the Sergeant, knowing full well that he needed to shut up and take it for your sake. He could only hope you were okay. Haiba shifted on his feet, coughing into his fist awkwardly.

“What do we do now?” Kenma asked meekly, feeling vulnerable under the intense scrutiny of the two extremely powerful men. Nobody else was in the precinct and he could even hear the hands of Kuroo’s watch tick. 

“We wait,” Kuroo replied swiftly, closing his half-lidded eyes and leaning back in his chair. “Yaku was off downtown for some captain’s thing so it’ll be a while before he can make it back to the precinct.” Kuroo clicked his tongue, his dark gold eyes directed at Kenma. Kenma felt incredibly uncomfortable under that gaze. Kuroo leant in suddenly, so closely that Kenma could count the pores on the man’s nose. 

_But he smelled… like tobacco smoke._

“Sarge?” Haiba asked nervously. Kenma stayed perfectly still until Kuroo withdrew, exhaling another mouthful of smoke.

“I dunno. He looks kinda familiar. Don’t you think, Lev?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before, no.”

“Weird,” Kuroo muttered, his eyes glittering. “Could’ve sworn I knew him from somewhere.”

“Do I… know _you_?” Kenma asked slowly.

“I don’t answer stupid questions.” Kuroo blew another ring of smoke into Kenma’s face, but this time, Kenma didn’t blink. He merely stared back.


	10. Chapter 10: Flying Econ to 'Certain Doom'

The only thing on your mind as you struggled to come to was the headache. It wrapped around you like an evil blanket, stealing what little comfort you had. You curled yourself into a tight ball, struggling to hold onto the distant vestiges of sleep to little avail. God, if only it weren’t so damn _hot_... 

And then you remembered that you were supposed to be home, but lying on unfamiliar carpet with unfamiliar smells told you that you were anywhere but. Cat Burglar—Kenma—where was he? Was he safe? You woke up like a shot had gone off in your head, springing to your feet only to eat shit and fall back onto your face. Inconsiderate white plastic ties bound your hands and ankles. You looked around, expecting to be kept in some sort of sketchy sex dungeon, but instead you found yourself in what looked like somebody’s office. On cue, a man turned around in his expensive looking chair, giving you a sly look. Your mind matched his profile up to one of the many mugshots you had forced yourself to memorize since coming to work at TMPD.

“Oikawa Tooru,” you spat out past the bad metallic taste in your mouth. He mocked a face of pure delighted surprise and fanned himself lazily.

“Ah, so you know me? How wonderful. We can skip formalities, then.”

 

“Why did you kidnap me?” you demanded. “What do you get out of it other than the police on your ass?”

“You were snoozing during my evil genius explanation scene. I’d rather not repeat myself, so I’ll just leave you in the dark instead.” He picked something up with his skeletal fingers from a gilded platter of fruit, displayed on his desk garishly. “Grape?”

“They’ll come get me,” you warned in a low voice as the fire crackled heartily, its smoke in your nose. “You screwed yourself when you messed with the TMPD.”

“You sound like you came straight out of a bad American 2000s cop movie.” He rolled his brown eyes, which flickered with the reflection of the fireplace behind you. Its heat burned your back as you stared into those hellish eyes. “It’s boring. Maybe I should get Iwa-chan to tranq you right away!”

Your head snapped around to look for whichever other man he was mentioning. The dark figure stood resting against the wall, barely visible if not for the slight shadow he cast in the dimly lit room. A scowl darkened his face when he noticed you looking at him. 

“I thought the entire point of being a secret assassin was for you _not_ to mention me to the hostages,” he spat, pulling a scarf down while he spoke. As he did, his voice warped back to normal, the apparent voice changer seemingly embedded into the fabric. The pitches settled into one of a disgruntled everyday man. You ignored his irritated words, your eyes drifting down to the large gun strapped to his shoulder like a child’s toy. It wasn’t a rifle or a shotgun, and looked like it could only shoot injections at most. Either way, it wouldn’t be good for you if you tried anything. Still, you were a cop. You weren’t just going to sit on your ass. You turned away from the unfamiliar ‘Iwa-chan’ after memorizing his features as best as you could, looking back to Oikawa.

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked in an attempt to make him talk, getting to a seated position as best as you could. You hid your hands behind the small of your back, feeling around for where the fire was. If you could weaken the plastic by warming it enough, then a quick chopping motion might be enough to snap the brittle material—

“Hey, Shitty-kawa. We should just keep her asleep. It’ll be easier that way.” His metalman emerged from the shadow and you heard the deafening but tiny click of the gun as it shifted in his hands to point itself at you. “Don’t tell me you only want her awake so you can brag.”

“Fine, fine. You know best. But I just want her to hear this.” He tossed the grape at you and you dodged it, flinching as it rolled past you onto the hearth. When you looked back at Oikawa he was smirking. “I’m not going to kill _you_... but let me just say that it’ll be your fault if you wake up to blood on your hands.”

“You wouldn’t dare—!” you started to shriek, a horrifying image of Haiba’s body being carted off into the morgue flashing in front of your eyes. Yaku’s pallid skin. Kuroo’s empty desk. Kenma, the guy you’d just met—suddenly you could see him on a metal table, fast asleep. No, not them— _anybody_ but them—he could kill you if he wanted if he just left _them_ alone—

You rose to your feet explosively. Every fibre in your body had the intention to get to him and rip his throat out with your teeth. The Seijoh gang’s metalman struck you sharply across the base of your skull, driving you into your feet. A decisive kick to your solar plexus left you gasping and he shot something into the side of your leg with a single sweeping movement. It was almost embarrassingly how easily you were subdued and you screeched with frustration. You fumbled to pull the dart out but the dull, tingling sheet of numbness eating the life out of your legs told you it was too late. 

You fell asleep before you could say any last, hateful words, your body collapsing back into a heap on his Persian carpet. Oikawa tutted with disappointment, rolling another grape in between his fingers.

“Don’t the good guys say something in the movies? Like ‘you’ll rue the day!’... or something.”

“This isn’t a movie,” Iwaizumi Hajime, Seijoh’s pet gun for hire, chided like some sort of pseudo-mother figure. Oikawa laughed to himself quietly, muttering as he stared at your limp body, his tongue darting out to wet dry lips. A grape was crushed in his grip, sticky juice rolling down his wrist. 

“Right. It’s even _better_...”

\---

“Yaku can’t get out of the meeting.” Kuroo hung up his phone with an almost disgusted expression, swiping a hand up through his hair. The third cigarette he’d smoked in the hour drifted ash into his dark bangs, giving him the appearance that he was older than he really was. Haiba was livid.

“[Name]’s life is on the line!” he yelled to nobody in particular, “doesn’t Yaku get that this is a hostage case now?!”

“Yeah, which is why he called in Hostages and SWAT. But that’s too tacky. I’ve been shadowing Seijoh for a long time—Oikawa’ll kill her the second he sees a police van. He’s not a believer in the preservation of life.” The cigarette continued to burn between his fingers, and Kenma couldn’t help but think of it as your lifeline, slowly being whittled away by time.

“What if he sees somebody that isn’t police?” he brought up, startling the other two detectives. Kuroo’s eyes narrowed suspiciously but Haiba slammed a large palm down on the desk, leaning forwards with twinkling green eyes.

“Are you saying that you’ll go in?”

“That’s ludicrous—” Kuroo began angrily, but Kenma cut him off hastily by rolling out the spiel of the plan he’d been thinking up. If he could even call it a plan.

“He wants me. That’s what he said. If I go in… try to surrender, then maybe he’ll let her go in favour of me.”

“So we get one life for a life?” Kuroo scoffed. “That’s idiotic. No way. I can’t allow it.”

“I can get into the computers,” he argued. “Tell me. You all have been trying to spy on Seijoh forever, right? And it’s never worked out because it’s like there’s no computers or cameras or anything there?”

Kuroo was shocked into stunned silence and Kenma took his chance to continue, relieved that he could finally talk about something within his expertise. He didn’t even breathe, worried that he’d be cut off before he could make his point.

“Well, there _are_. It’s just hard to get into. But I can get into them. If you send me in, I can get you all the information you need to incriminate and arrest them.”

“You’re saying that there’ll be logs?” Kuroo asked, catching on to Kenma’s thought pattern. The cigarette was forgotten as the lean male leant forwards interestedly. “If you looked for it, could you find something that ties Oikawa to the murder of a young boy, Kageyama Tobio?”

That name again. It stirred recognition in Kenma’s brain and he remembered slowly; Kageyama was the name of Oikawa’s so-called ‘apprentice’. Kuroo noticed and explained.

“Kageyama was a Seijoh defect that came to the precinct south of ours. He might’ve been ex, but that doesn’t mean anything once you become family. When he was shot in cold blood by that bastard…” The air grew colder and even Haiba swallowed thickly. Kuroo turned back to look at Kenma, his eyes practically crackling with fury and passion. “[Name]. She’s our family. Can you get her out okay?”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Kenma replied, just as resolutely.

Haiba, who had been quiet until now, spoke up hesitantly. “That’s great and all, but what’s the plan? Look at him.” He gestured at Kenma’s appearance. “Somebody could sneeze and he’d topple over. We can’t wire him and we can’t guarantee his safety.”

“I don’t need guarantees,” Kenma pleaded desperately. “I just need to get in there and help her.”

“What if they both die, Kuroo?” Haiba stopped trying to reason with Kenma, sensing the lost cause, and turned to his senior officer. “What’ll we do then?”

“Don’t talk about [Name] dying!” Kuroo snapped sharply, inhaling deeply. He clenched the lit cigarette in his bare hands, extinguishing it with his bare flesh without batting an eyelash. He looked at Kenma in a way that made Kenma feel as if his soul were being searched. “Can you do it?”

“Kuroo—?” Haiba began, obviously confused by Kuroo’s sudden change of heart. Kuroo held up a large authoritative hand, ignoring his junior and staring solely at Kenma’s eyes. Kenma wasn’t an idiot; he knew that Kuroo was gauging his pupils to see if he was lying.

“Can you do it?” he repeated. 

Kenma nodded wordlessly.

“Why’re you so keen to help, anyways? You haven’t even known her for as long as us,” Haiba interrogated suddenly. He didn’t sound angry but instead desperate to save Kenma from his own idiocy. “You might not make it back out okay. You might not even be _alive_. You know that, right?”

“I just feel like…” Kenma had never been the greatest orator and merely said the first thing that came to mind. “I feel like I need to help the person who trusted me.”

And that was how Kenma had booked his one-way ticket to Certain Doom, no refunds, no returns.


	11. Chapter 11: gg lmao

If he could equate the feeling to anything familiar to him, Kenma would describe it as “having to go down to the laundry room during rush hour” dread. Or maybe it was “having to talk to strangers” dread—in any case, Kenma was about to walk into a mob boss’ lair. Kenma was really feeling the regret, and it didn’t feel great.

“You can back out,” Haiba said sympathetically as Kenma readied himself, massaging his fingers.

“Uh… no, I can’t. We’re literally sitting right outside his house.” Kenma looked up, annoyed, but was surprised to see Hiaba exhibiting clear signs of genuine concern. 

“Man, why did this have to happen to me? My mom was right. I should’ve just been a lawyer instead. _Der’mo_ …” He smoothed back platinum hair from his forehead, the residual grease from long nights slicking it into place, stray hairs floating around his face like a miniature halo. Haiba’s narrow green eyes focused on Kenma before he extended a gigantic hand wordlessly. Kenma stared at it.

“Uh…?”

“You and [Name] will get out alive. Shake on it.”

“You’re not going to spit on your hand, right?” Kenma asked wryly. Still, he hesitated. He hated making promises he couldn’t keep; even in quick-answer gameplay, he never lied to the characters. 

He shook Haiba’s hand. The younger detective’s hand was warm and strong.

“I don’t think I introduced myself properly. Detective Haiba. But you know what? You get [Name] out and I’ll buy you a drink. Call me Lev from now on.”

“I don’t drink,” Kenma admitted. “But thanks. Lev.” He shook the hand once more, somewhat intimidated by the broad strength behind Lev’s hand. “Kozume Kenma.”

“See you in ten, Kenma.”

When they parted, Kenma felt a little better.

The next officer was a bouncy man, shorter than him but making up for it with a heavy duty gun strapped to his thigh. The man saluted at him and looked much too enthusiastic for a raid.

“Detective Hinata, 98th precinct!” he introduced in that typical army-man-that-doesn’t-know-what-he’s-doing-but-is-pretending-to kind of way. Kenma nodded warily.

“You’re not going in with me, I’m assuming…”

“No,” Hinata admitted. “I’m going to be posted on the other end of Oikawa’s house. I just wanted to say something to you before you go in.” 

“And?”

“Oikawa killed my best friend. He’s killed a lot of other people too. If he could kill Kageyama, he can kill you. But let’s not let that happen.” Hinata shifted kind of uncomfortably before giving Kenma a look filled with so much passion that he got chills. “I want you… to help me get revenge on him. For my partner. For all the others that the Grand King of the Streets has screwed.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kenma said feebly in the face of such fury. Hinata should’ve been the one going in. But no, they were sending in the underweight hacker that had panic attacks during phone calls. 

GG.

\---

He thought it had been humiliating to be knocked around by Oikawa’s muscleman. It was way worse to be ringing the doorbell of Oikawa’s mansion like some lost pizza boy.

A maid answered and bowed reverently when she saw him. “Kozume-dono. This way, please. The master waits eagerly.”

The honourific already made him more uncomfortable than he already was and he resisted the urge to look back to the police vehicles, knowing they were already retreating so that they wouldn’t arouse any suspicion. Hinata’s plea stuck out in his head. 

_Help me take revenge._

How many people had Oikawa hurt? Had he hurt you? The thought of it spurred him on enough and he extended a foot. He entered the house slowly, one foot and then two. The door locked behind him.

He exhaled shakily and followed the maid.

\---

“Kenma-chan!” Oikawa’s sickening voice called as the maid led him into a study. Kenma’s hairs immediately stood on end and he looked around, his eyes quickly seeking your face out. You looked asleep, curled up on the couch, your head nestled snugly in Oikawa’s lap. He was combing your hair out with his fingers, a domestic sight that caused Kenma’s stomach to lurch with disgust. 

“What did you do to her?” he accused, forgetting his plan of sucking up to the Grand King when he saw you. Oikawa tutted.

“Letting her get some beauty sleep. It was… _much_ needed. Anyways, to business. You came. Alone, I presume?”

Kenma looked to a man standing next to a window behind Oikawa’s desk. Oikawa noticed Kenma’s gaze and followed it, laughing joyously when he realized what Kenma was looking at.

“Don’t mind Iwa-chan. He’s just here to make sure that you don’t have any friends, which shouldn’t be too hard to accomplish.”

Kenma ignored the jibing and pushed forwards, his eyes flicking back to you. “You take me,” he said slowly so that his voice wouldn’t crack, “you let her go.” 

That was the plan, at least. The few guys they had pulled together with hostage training had promised that they would get him out once you were safe, but he highly doubted that they could get both— _his_ plan? One for two. Fifty percent was good enough. It had to be.

“Well…” Oikawa drawled, clearly enjoying taking his time to think about it. He drew his hand through your silky hair a last time, the strands falling over your face before he smiled. “It seems like you have yourself a deal. But understand this. I am not asking you for your work. I’m asking you for your soul.”

Kenma nodded.

Oikawa stood, carelessly depositing you onto the floor. You rolled awkwardly as Oikawa brushed off his pristine white pant legs, pulling the cyan handkerchief out of his pocket with a flourish to wipe off his hands. He walked over to the man by the window and Kenma rushed forwards to your side, a hand hovering over your nose as he shook your shoulders. 

For a frightening minute you refused to wake, and he started to fear you might be dead. Despair tumbled over him. He hadn’t known you at all but he blamed himself—God, what could he _do_ if he let all the people outside down? He’d already let you down—

But suddenly your eyes opened groggily, squinting up at him wordlessly. He nearly laughed with joy and shot a hasty glance to Oikawa, who was still immersed in hushed conversation. You reached up and weakly patted his chest as if to affirm his existence.

“You’re awake,” he whispered gratefully. You blinked slowly and sat up, clutching your head.

“Wish I weren’t,” you muttered. He was so glad to hear your voice that he nearly cried—but he knew that he wasn’t finished yet and steeled his emotions.

“You need to get out. I bought you some time but—”

“Bought me… what? What happened? What did you do? Why are you here?” you turned to look at him with wide eyes, the questions tumbling out one after the other. He held up a finger to shush you.

“I came to help the person who trusted me.”

Your brow furrowed with confusion and you were about to speak when a gruff voice suddenly broke the silence.

“Oikawa. Police van.” He snapped his fingers, pulling them away from an earpiece. 

“Hm? I don’t see—”

“Three blocks down, my scout says. What do you want to do?”

The five word question froze Kenma’s blood. Your hand on his chest tightened, gripping his sweater as his entire body tensed. He didn’t want to look but he did. Oikawa sighed disappointedly, drawing a silver gun from his pocket. Kenma looked at the black hole of the barrel almost disinterestedly, not quite sure that it was really happening.

“I guess I’ll have to kill them both,” Oikawa said with mock disappointment, cocking the safety and pulling the trigger.


	12. Chapter 12: 01100110011101010110001101101011

He didn’t want to make the analogy. It was nerdy, and lame on all counts, but he couldn’t really think of any other way to describe it. It was like that one scene in the Matrix where the bullets slow down and leave rippling trails in the air for what seems like forever. Only, Kenma wasn’t Neo, he was _Kenma_ , and he was going to die in the stupidest way—getting shot in the damn face.

God dammit.

“Ken—”

The scream in his ear was all he heard before the shot of the gun practically deafened him. He was on the ground—he could _feel_ he was on the hard ground—and you were on top of him. It was like when the sniper had shot through the window of your apartment, only the roles had been reversed…

And there was real blood coming from your arm.

He stared. He’d seen all the movies and played all the games but nothing could’ve prepared him for the sickening smell or the sticky warmth. He looked down at his fingers, dyed red, the colour seeping into the ridges of his fingerprints like a poison through veins. You breathed hard, your eyes trained dead onto his, almost as if you hadn’t even noticed that you’d been shot. He stared back.

“I missed,” Oikawa groaned disappointedly, as if he were just having a good time at the shooting range instead of trying to murder two innocents. His muscleman, Iwa whatever, cursed him out.

“Let me handle this, Oi—”

“No!” Oikawa snapped, the overly nonchalant act dropped. Oikawa was thunder now, the gun shaking in his hand. “I want to kill them. I want to hear them scream like Tobio screamed!”

“You’re fucked up,” Iwa said, surprised, before laughing good-heartedly. “Don’t miss twice.”

“Go!” you hissed at Kenma as they talked, and he pulled his attention away from their conversation to you. It was like he couldn’t quite focus on anything. Even with you being so close to him, and in such an urgent situation, he could scarcely think about anything but how pretty you looked in firelight.

“Kenma, please! We’ve gotta go!” You pulled him up and grabbed his hand, running with him out of the study and down the hall. You were a lot faster than him but you dragged him along anyways, not once loosening your grip. He was breathing hard but tried his best to keep up, his thoughts shutting down so that he could focus. Left foot, right foot, in step with yours. Your hand in his. Warmth. Blood still streamed from the wound on your arm and he was tempted to ask if you were all right, but he was wheezing and nothing came out but a pathetic cough. 

A bullet ricocheted off the floor behind the two of you and he winced, spurred on by the sound of splintering hardwood. Despite the pounding of footsteps and his heartbeat, he could hear Oikawa calling.

“Run all you like, but I sure hope you have the six coins to pass into the afterlife!”

“Fuckin’… asshole!” you spat between breaths, your teeth ground together to cope with the pain. Kenma could not agree more.

“Lev… said they’d come if they… heard anything,” he struggled, “so… we should be… getting…”

“Okay,” you breathed, pulling him along. “Tell me where to go!”

“Computers,” Kenma managed past the taste of blood. He needed to get to a computer if they could prove Oikawa’s involvement in all the crimes he’d been accused of but never tried for. Maybe the TMPD should’ve just arrested him for being a terrible person. The prosecution would have a field day on that charge.

“Where?”

Kenma didn’t know. Oikawa had made his house floor plans private (which was a ‘duh’, no good mob boss would flaunt his floor plans) but everything important was almost always put in the basement. The both of you skidded to a halt in front of an unassuming door. The fact that it was so simple in such a garish house made the both of you look at each other. You nodded and he flung the door open, racing first down the stairs. He about tumbled down the last few when he emerged into an expansive dark room, back lit with the familiar blue glow of his kind. 

Computers.

“I’ll watch the door. Do your thing!” you ordered. He was already pulling out a keyboard, his wide eyes scanning the screens frantically. They were all encrypted in black-and-white binary, but Kenma’s shoulders relaxed at the sight. He shouldn’t have been able to relax at a time like this, but Oikawa would’ve had a better time deterring him if he had made everything in Albanian. Ones and zeroes were Kenma’s mother tongue.

The first screen was a passcode prompt. Kenma bypassed it like a child ignoring their vegetables by commanding it to pull up its internal hardware. He began to type, his fingers flying across the keys like a pianist playing his heart out. Despite the clacking of keys, he could hear your laboured breathing behind him, and wished more than anything that he’d have just taken that position at Google instead. Maybe that way, everything could’ve been avoided. You would’ve lived your cop life in relative peace and a crazed narcissist wouldn’t be hunting him down.

Well, who knows. Maybe Google is a wild place.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and focused on the code. It kept shifting languages—C, Java, even HTML—but Kenma was fluent, his fingers hurting from the fervour with which he typed. Just a couple more lines—

“Oops, you found my computers, did you now?”

The sing-songy voice drifted down from the top of the stairs and you touched his shoulder, making him jump. He continued to type as you whispered urgently.

“I’ll keep him off of you. Buy you time. We’ll be fine, trust me.”

“I do,” he managed. He didn’t believe you, but he at least trusted you.

“This is no fun,” Oikawa complained as he finally stepped foot into the room. Kenma couldn’t see him, but he imagined that Oikawa was spinning the gun around his finger like some tacky cowboy. You were practically growling at him.

“Yeah? It’ll be fun as hell to put you behind bars.”

He tutted disapprovingly. “Such spirit. It’s annoying. You remind me of Tobi-chan.”

“Detective Kageyama…?” you asked slowly. Kenma realized that you didn’t know about Oikawa’s obsession with his ex-associate and the former cop, but ignored the both of you, struggling to finish unlocking the damn computer. It was like coaxing open an alligator’s jaw. Malicious hardware threatened him like a gleaming jagged-edged tooth. Just a little longer.

“Oh, you even gave my man a rank and everything? Hah. He always was a master of his words…” Oikawa sounded regretful, even, and Kenma pictured a strained smile on his dark, chiselled face. “Maybe he conned you guys like he conned me. Who knows now? Can’t talk with a bullet between your teeth.”

“He’s dead because of you, you fucking bastard! Do you have no heart at all?!” you howled at him.

“No, I don’t. Thanks for asking. That’s why it’ll be so much easier to kill _you_!” He was screaming now, his voice hoarse, and Kenma blinked frightful tears out of his eyes. His entire body was trembling. Just a few more words. It was a miracle that he hadn’t misspelled something or created a bug somewhere along the way. Just a few more words.

You screeched wordlessly and there was a clatter of bodies hitting the ground. It took everything he had not to turn around. He pressed enter and lines of numbers scrolled past the screen. His mind translated it into Japanese choppily as fear seized his nerves with the sounds of pain behind him.

_**TOBIO KAGEYAMA. TRAITOR. ELIMINATED: 05/10/2022. DATE OF BIRTH** _

It was all he needed. Kenma sent out a ping and wrote it up to the TMPD’s servers, even networking it into his own proxies so that it would be safe if there were a self-destructing virus. You screamed shrilly and there was a shot that seemed much too far away. Kenma’s vision was going black and he sucked a huge breath in, having forgotten to breathe. His job done, he peeked behind him.

He wished he hadn’t.

Oikawa had his white loafer on the middle of your bleeding chest, stepping into you like he might a cockroach. You weren’t moving. Oikawa was shaking jerkily like a malfunctioning robot as he pressed you into the ground, your ribs snapping audibly, brittle leaves in cold winter. Oikawa seemed to have completely forgotten about Kenma, spitting onto your body.

“Say hello to Tobi-chan in Hell for me… hmph. Iwa-chan! Let’s go.” Oikawa’s calm returned and he stepped off of you, bouncing up the stairs without even sparing Kenma a glance. Kenma was left alone. He wanted nothing more than to come to your side but turned back to the computers, his hands shaking so badly he almost couldn’t hit the keys properly. Cars, cars, there had to be something about the cars…

“Kenma…?”

Your voice was so weak that he almost couldn’t hear it. But he did, and he wished he hadn’t, because it shattered his resolve. He bit his lip so hard it bled and continued to type through tears, aware that he might be hearing your last words, and that he was leaving you to die alone. 

He pressed enter with so much force that he felt like he were breaking the keyboard. Finished, he whirled around and dropped to his knees, scrambling to your side. He pressed his hands into the bullet wound on your shoulder, pressing down into it. You gasped and whined with pain, but you were still breathing, allowing him to ignore your pleas for him to stop. 

“Kenma, listen to me.”

“I am,” he choked out. “Don’t talk, they’ll be here any second to help you—”

“I want… to thank you. You have a gift.” Your gentle words sounded harsh, spat out past pink stained teeth. He shook his head desperately as you reached up, your cold fingers curling around his wrist as he tried to hamper the bleeding.

“I don’t. I couldn’t save you… you did so much for me and this is what happened. It’s my fault. It’s my—”

“It’s not,” you insisted. Your breathing sounded like it was rattling now and he knew you were living on nothing but the spite to death for taking you early. “When you get out… stop stealing… and do some good for the world. You gave justice to Kageyama… do that for others, too… okay?”

“Okay. I will, only if you stay alive, so—”

“Thanks, Cat Burglar.” You smiled and your eyes remained open, even when your hand fell away. With horror, he called your name shakily. There was no reply. There were no keys to press, no reboot button on this—you were a human being, and there was no code to recall a soul.

He couldn’t remember anything else but excruciating, blindingly cold grief.


	13. Chapter 13: Cat and Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading to the end! stay tuned for Lion Cub, a reader x lev spin-off that'll be coming soon !

You came to at the sound of somebody swearing under their breath. Your eyelids felt like they had been glued shut and it took all the effort you had to open them and crane your neck to the source of noise. A blurry mass of blond was partially hidden behind something, muttering to themselves.

“Heart rate monitor my ass… damn annoying, that’s what…”

Suddenly the rhythmic beeping fell hard into a flatline. With a hushed ‘shit’, Kenma pulled the plug out entirely, the room having a second of silence before commotion erupted. Kenma apologized profusely to annoyed grumbling from what had to be a worried nurse. The blurry mass of blond, Kozume Kenma, sat back into his chair and sighed deeply.

“Guess I’m dead,” you said wryly.

He jumped and you blinked, his face coming more into focus as your eyes re-adjusted to light. Your eyes explored the empty room as you swallowed past a thick paste of foul-tasting gunk.

“You… you woke up!” he blurted out, paralyzed. He realized himself and looked around frantically, scooting forwards and pressing a plastic cup to your lips. You coughed as the water drained into your sore, weak throat, but you drank gratefully. Kenma leaned close to you and because of his deathly pale skin, you could see his dark circles like twin moons on his face.

“You look terrible,” you commented. He sighed with relief and slumped back into his uncomfortable looking plastic chair, running his hands through his hair.

“You look worse. I mean—um, no, you look okay for a person who almost died. Sorry.”

His nervous rambling was endearing and you laughed before wincing. Your ribs were definitely either broken or popped, and even the task of drawing in breath was a whole series of trials and tribulations.

“What happened?” you asked as the memories began to come back to you. Kenma was wringing his hands and took in a deep breath, launching into the explanation.

His last act at the Oikawa house had been to hack Oikawa’s tacky sports cars. Police were able to pick up the crime lord from his locked, immovable Lamborghini like a person picking up their doggy in a carrier, much to Oikawa’s distress. He, Iwaizumi (a man that had allegedly committed 43 unsolved murders), and other Seijoh staff were successfully detained and charged on 750 counts of miscellaneous crime ranging from white collar to federal felonies. The police would be able to hunt down and legally arrest any other Seijoh associates because of the files Kenma had delivered. You smiled at the sound of that.

“You did good,” you praised through the biting pain. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you kidding me? I didn’t do anything. Look at you… you got shot for me… you were dead for three days because of me. Why? Why’d you do so much for me?” 

“I could ask you the same. You went into a crazy guy’s house, alone, for me.”

“Well… that’s…” He started blushing, his red face bright against his dark roots. You struggled to stifle a laugh, sounding like a kicked puppy in the process. Tears of pain welled in your eyes.

“I’ll get the nurse,” Kenma started, getting up. You made a noise and he stopped, looking back at you.

“First… give me my watch back.”

“Your… watch?”

“The one you just stole off of my wrist.”

His eyes widened and he blanched. “You knew?”

You smirked faintly and his face reddened again. He withdrew your old silver watch from his pocket and you lifted up your hand slightly. Understanding, Kenma leant forwards and clipped your watch back onto your wrist with gentle hands. His long fingers were warm as they brushed against your skin.

“Kenma?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe instead of a watch, you should give me a ring next time. Food for thought.”

\---

Oikawa was sentenced to life in jail. He smiled throughout his entire trial, legs crossed neatly as his verdict was passed down. Some of the crazier idiots on the media swooned over his good looks, writing up pleas for his bail. But you thought that he looked sad in the defendant’s chair. That was the only throne for him, now. It didn’t matter much what Oikawa thought or felt. Very soon, the Great King would get to rule his kingdom of a 6 by 8 foot cage.

Iwaizumi, the infamous ghost assassin, was arrested on 52 counts of murder. He admitted to several more before accepting a highly controversial secret plea deal to sell out his circle of mercenaries. Because of him, 21 other murderers had been plucked off of the streets. You didn’t agree with his cushy status as criminal informant, but Iwaizumi Hajime was not a bad person in of himself if you ignored the fact that he was a lethal assassin. He sent you apology flowers that you had checked profusely for poison. Where he was now, you didn’t know, but you hoped he would stop killing and choose a cleaner job instead. 

Yaku received an offer from the higher-ups to work as a rep of Interpol as reward for the capture of Seijoh. He rejected it without even a second’s though, stating that his _“precinct is full of a bunch of idiot children that can’t take care of themselves. I’ve gotta keep an eye on those kids ‘cause nobody else seems to be able to do it.”_ He had gifted you your badge as a get well present, and no chocolates or flowers could rival the feeling you got when you felt the worn leather in your hands again. He praised you for bringing respect to the precinct, too. Even loudmouth Koutarou Bokuto of the 32nd precinct admitted that your precinct earned the title of MVP—Most Valuable Precinct—for the year. Yaku was particularly smug about that. 

Lev was demoted to traffic cop for his role in allowing a civilian to take part in an operation. He didn’t even complain, instead going on and on about every day life, excitedly telling you about how he helped a little girl get her cat back by climbing a tree in the park. _“That’s what makes it for me. That’s when I feel like a real cop,”_ he had said, a glimmer in his green eyes. You knew that he’d make it big with some time. When you told him that you were glad that he was his partner, he blushed so darkly that he looked like a silver-tipped tomato. He had gotten you a fluffy Hello Kitty plushie, which you decided to take without spite (for once). His salute to you was finally genuine, and you never admitted it, but you were looking forwards to working with him again.

Kuroo was taking it rougher. He hadn’t suffered any professional reprimanding since Lev had taken the brunt of it, but the hazing he got at work practically haunted him. Kuroo’s neighbour as a child had been none other than Kozume Kenma, which brought the entire precinct down laughing. _“It’s not my fault I didn’t recognize him! It’s been like twenty years!”_ he complained, but you laughed at him too. He finally quit smoking, though, and even promised that he wouldn’t touch your desk until after you got back. 

Kenma… oh, the brass had a field day with Kenma. In the end, the vote to his pardon won out 51 to 49 because of his integral role in taking down the Seijoh gang. Despite his grumbling about having to do unpaid massive tech upgrades for the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, he at least was free of any jail time. You had fulfilled your promise of innocence to him. He even went back to visit his parents, endured their teasing and cheek pinching, and even promised to quit hacking. (Well, illegal hacking. Having somebody who could worm into people’s accounts was pretty useful for police investigations…) 

And you? You were still bedridden, your estimated hospitalization time totalling up to a couple of months. Although you wanted nothing more than to get back to work, it was a little nice to be able to do nothing but lie down and think. At least you were still alive. But the hospital bill might’ve made you think twice about that. Your friends passed through your room regularly to keep you company, but the one you cared about most was always there. 

You’d thought he was a rat at first, a little evasive mouse you had to trap. But his sleepy expression and quiet, but genuine caring was more cat-like than anything. 

“Kenma?” you asked softly. He lifted his head, turning his phone off as he looked at you.

“Something you need?” he asked. You tapped your lips with a little grin. His eyelashes fluttered nervously and his averted his gaze bashfully.

“You’re so weird,” he muttered. You pouted.

“C’mon. Here kitty kitty.”

“You’re. _Weird_.” 

Still, with a defeated sigh, he leant forwards and kissed you. It was soft and warm and you smiled into him, thankful. When you leant away, you smiled dryly, holding up your bare left hand.

“Give that back, Kenma.”

He sighed with a bit of childish disappointment but obliged, sliding the golden band back onto your finger. You curled your fingers around his and pulled him back into you, your forehead touching his.

“Love you.”

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, and that spoke enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/Yf3bCB

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lion Cub](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9094771) by [deltachye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye)




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